Campion Lane
by ElouiseBates
Summary: Will Susan Price learn from the mistakes made by her cousins, or will she follow in their footsteps to ruin and despair? A Sequel to Mansfield Park.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note: _**_I cannot hope to equal Jane Austen's skill, but I am attempting to follow her style adn the stlye of Regency authors as closely as possible in this tale. I am truly grateful for all advice and help anyone can give. This is hopefully going to develop into a novel-length tale, but it will be updated slowly, as the style is very difficult for me to keep up for any length of time._

_**Disclaimer:** All of the characters from Mansfield Park belong to the inimitable Jane Austen. Hopefully the few that I create live up to her's.

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There may those rare creatures in whom sense and vivacity are happily blended in perfect measure, who never stoop to folly or expose themselves to ridicule, whose lofty ideals and sagacious ponderings are applied flawlessly to every situation, whose behavior is equal to soul and mind; such a blend of grace and spirit may exist in some persons, but Susan Price was not one of these happy beings.

Having been raised for fourteen years in a home where lowness of mind and understanding abounded, where such manners and learning as might be acquired were considered as attempts to rise above her station, it can be imagined that Susan's felicity at being transferred to her uncle's home of Mansfield Park was great. What joys could she imagine, at being the favored niece of so great a family as Sir Thomas Bertram and Lady Bertram! When first she was established as her aunt's companion, her eagerness to serve and to learn knew no bounds. She soon became dearer to her aunt, and more necessary than could have been anticipated. Sir Thomas himself smiled upon her and congratulated himself often on the happy thought that led him to install Susan into their well-oiled household. For the first four years of her residence at Mansfield Park, indeed, it seemed impossible to imagine what could cause anything to interfere with the smooth course of their lives.

To Susan, however, coming from the freedoms of her own home, the restrictions and rules of her uncle's home were very trying. While she was grateful for the whim that had brought her out of her lowly station, she did wish to experience more excitement, to enjoy herself more, and to have a wider circle of acquaintances. Her uncle, suffering as he was from the agony of having had one daughter destroy her reputation with a wicked man, and the other elope, felt it very important to keep Susan from forming any injudicious connexions. He also had developed the very bad habit of lecturing her on the follies of fashionable young women almost every evening, while Lady Bertram dozed by the fire with her pug. Far from dissuading her, the stories told by Sir Thomas merely served to inflame Susan's imagination and increase her desire to learn of these things for herself.

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Susan was dining at Mansfield Parsonage one Sunday with her sister and brother-in-law, Fanny and Edmund Bertram. Edmund was the youngest of Sir's Thomas's two sons, and a fine clergyman. He, too, felt it his duty to turn Susan's mind to soberness and steadiness, the unhappy result of which was flippancy from his dear cousin.

"Cousin," began he that day over dinner, "What thought you of my sermon today? Did you think there were any points that should have been made clearer? Did it all flow together smoothly?"

"La, I cannot tell," replied Susan gaily. "I never listen to above half your sermon, as well you know."

"That is very wrong, Susan," interposed Fanny gravely. "You should always listen to the teaching of the church."

"But Fanny, you know Edmund's sermons are infernally long and dull," pleaded Susan. "How is one such as myself supposed to be able to take note of everything said in them, especially when there are such other interesting things happening? For example, today Mrs. Worth came to church with such a hat as I have never seen in my life! Truly, it was a hideous monstrosity; I declare, it took me a full ten minutes to fully compose myself to where I could think about anything else after seeing it. Then, Miss Farnsworth was _out_ for the first time this week, and such a frock as she boasted! All lace and frills and furbelows 'til one could hardly see the plain little woman underneath it. With all these distractions surrounding me, can you wonder that I found it hard to focus on dear Edmund's sermon?"

Here Edmund interposed with a long dissertation on the importance of turning one's mind from worldly things during the administration of the service, to which neither Susan nor Fanny could follow for longer than half a minute. Indeed, Susan only let it get a bit further before she ignored her cousin entirely and turned to her sister.

"But Fanny, I have nearly forgotten!"

Edmund stopped, appalled at being so rudely interrupted. Fanny was on the brink of rebuking her sister when Susan's news drove all such thoughts out of their heads.

"My uncle received a letter yesterday of great import. Can you ever guess? No, you cannot, so I must tell you myself. It was from Julia—Mrs. Yates!"

"My sister?" This time it was Edmund himself who interrupted, so eager was he to hear news of his youngest sister, married these four years to a Mr. Yates, and only rarely visiting Mansfield.

"Aye," replied Susan. "And you will never guess what she said. She and Mr. Yates and their daughter Althea wish to come to pay a lengthy visit to Mansfield Park. They are hoping to stay the summer out! Is it not grand?"

Fanny and Edmund exchanged quick glances. Although fond of Mrs. and Mr. Yates, they were not the sort of influence either of them felt was good for Susan at this time in her life. She, however, chattered on, oblivious to their concern.

"For you know Julia will have all the latest fashions from London, and that is sorely needed here, as well you know, Fanny. And is not the timing Providential? My aunt says I am to come _out_ shortly before they arrive, so that I will be able to attend all the festivities and galas. And Julia herself said in her letter that she is greatly desirous of making my better acquaintance this summer. Was that not kind? Truly, with this sort of news, it was a wonder I was able to hear anything dear Edmund said this morning. I am all a-flutter with excitement!"

Again Fanny and Edmund exchanged a slow glance, and then Fanny spoke in her kindly fashion.

"It will be a pleasure to see dear Julia again. And it will be so nice for Cassandra to have her cousin to play with. There are so few children with whom she can properly associate around here that I fear the mite is often lonely."

"I've told you before, Fan, you keep Cass far too exclusive," said Susan impatiently. "Why should she not play with the common children? People will think you a great snob."

"Well, well," said Edmund, thinking it was high time the conversation took a turn, "Let it be. So Julia and Yates are coming at last? My poor mother must be in a tizzy. I fancy this is one time she wishes Aunt Norris were still here."

Aunt Norris, so offensive and ridiculous to all three, had been living for the past several years in the country with Maria, the eldest Bertram daughter, who had been disowned for her shocking conduct. None at Mansfield had ever missed either of them, but Edmund's little joke served to break any tension building 'round the table. They shared a quiet laugh and retired from the table to take a walk to Mansfield and visit with Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram and share the news of Julia and Yates.


	2. Chapter 2

It was quite outside of Lady Bertram's power to put any kind of effort into preparing for the expected visit. Susan was more than happy to take on many of her aunt's duties, as every unpleasant task seemed to reinforce the joyous expectation of a marvelous visit. Susan had very few memories of her cousin Julia, but the arrival of another lady, one who was involved with the _ton_, was of great delight to her. Fanny, she loved with all the affection of her warm heart, but she could not help but feel impatient toward her dear sister at times. Fanny's interests centered solely around her home and family. She shewed no concern for world matters, or, what was far more important to Susan, fashionable matters. Why, even the event of Susan's coming out hadn't raised Fanny's notice! She had merely commented that she hoped a coming-out ball would not tire Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram too much, and then reminded Susan of how much was owed to her aunt and uncle for their kindly attentions to her. Susan really thought that her attentions toward them were more kindly than theirs to her, but she had enough good sense to not say so to Fanny. And indeed, it would have done little good, for at that moment little Cassandra, a darling child of three, had run in and taken all her mama's consideration.

At length, though it had seemed to Susan that it would never come, the day set for Mr. and Mrs. Yates to arrive came. It dawned in such a usual manner that Susan found it hard to believe such a momentous occasion really was happening. Surely even the sun itself must be aware that this was the day she could spread forth her wings and escape the narrow confines of her world.

However, as the sun shone calmly on, Susan had little choice but to calmly go about her daily duties, only looking at the clocks in a fever of impatience every five minutes, and questioning the servants as to whether the time really could be right.

As she was sitting in the drawing room with her aunt and uncle, untangling her aunt's embroidery, her hopes were raised by the sound of footsteps in the hall. Hardly had she started to rise, however, when the door opened to admit Fanny, Edmund, and Cassandra, who had come over to be on hand to welcome Julia and Yates.

"Oh!" said Lady Bertram, without once raising her eyes from her work. "I am most glad you are here, Fanny, for we are all a-flutter, and indeed, hardly know what to do with ourselves. It seems as though Julia will never get here."

As all this was said in a perfectly tranquil tone, it will hardly be wondered at that Susan was hard-pressed to keep from making a face. She heroically restrained herself, however, and was rewarded by a disapproving look from Fanny, who then crossed over to the couch to gently converse with her aunt, as though to shew Susan how she ought to act. This did nothing but frustrate Susan more.

However, her feelings were spared, for at that moment the door was flung open and the butler announced,

"Mr. and Mrs. Yates, my lord."

He was immediately followed by Julia, who rushed in, embraced everyone, and chattered tempestuously.

"Oh! To be sure, I thought we'd never get here. the drive was intolerably long, and the coachman perfectly insufferable. Little Althea was quite ill at one point, and he refused to stop in a most beastly manner. I told Yates to do something about it, but you know he is so lazy he can barely exert himself. Is it not shocking?"

"Indeed, most distressing, my dear," said Lady Bertram tranquilly.

"Oh, hello Fanny, hello Edmund," continued Julia, ignoring her mother. "I didn't see you there at first, Fanny. You're still as quiet and mouse-like as ever, are you not? And this is your daughter? To be sure, she is a frail-looking thing. Nothing to be compared with Althea. Yates, where is Althea? We want to compare her with Cassandra. Oh, that's right, Nurse took her off. Poor thing, she was made _so _ill by that dreadful ride. Oh! Mama, I have such news about the latest fashions to tell you. I can tell you have had no access to anything new here. Upon my word, Fanny does look odd, in such old-looking fashions! It seems too, too funny for words. The country is the worst possible place for keeping up with the times. Well! And so I am sure you have all been very dull here without me. Have no fear, Yates and I will soon cheer you up. Yates wished to perform a play, but I told him Papa would never allow it, so what do you think we are to do instead? We have invited some of our dear friends to come out here and enjoy a house party! Will it not be droll? And of course we must have a ball."

"Indeed," said Lady Bertram. "That sounds most pleasant, dear, and you know a ball will work quite nicely for your cousin."

"Fanny? What could Fanny want with a ball?"

"Not Fanny, dear, Susan."

"Oh!" Julia looked Susan over for the first time. Her quick eye took in the girl's pleasing features, her sparking eyes, and eager expression. Susan resembled Fanny greatly in all things but two: she had more strength of mind and readiness of wit, and far less sense. Julia, who was not really ill-natured, merely thoughtless and self-centered, saw only that her young cousin was rather pretty (though not so pretty as herself) and far more lively than Fanny ever had been. "Of course—Susan—I had forgotten about you!" She laughed foolishly. "Mama said you were to come _out_ this season. I with you could be presented at St. James—it would be so delightful—but we must make do with a ball here for you. And with all of our friends here, it will be quite the gala occasion!"

At this point Edmund broke in, displeased with his sister for making plans in his father's house without consulting him first, as was only proper. "Julia, you have not already invited your guests, have you?"

"Of course we have!" exclaimed Julia.

Edmund frowned severely. "Without consulting our father?"

"Law! Edmund, you have not changed a bit. Why should we consult Papa? He could have no objection. I hope I am still welcome in my old home so as to be able to invite a few people over to be comfortable, without having to feel shame over it."

"Sir," said Edmund, turning to his father. "Sir, this cannot please you, can it?"

To his surprise, Sir Thomas was smiling. "Indeed, Edmund, I can find no objection to this plan, as long as your sister's friends are all genteel, good sorts of people. It might, perhaps, have been more prudent to consult me first, but there is no harm done."

Julia smiled triumphantly, Susan looked delighted, Yates smiled foppishly, and Edmund had no choice but to puzzle over his father's unaccountable behaviour.

In truth, Sir Thomas remembered the disastrous results that had arisen from his natural sternness in his daughters' younger years, and was eager to avoid alienating the one daughter left to him by repeating former mistakes. He was assured, with Mrs. Norris gone, and he himself supervising, that things could not get out of hand.

Edmund had not quite finished yet. "How many people have you invited, Julia?"

"Oh! Not many. Only a few of our closest friends—not above a dozen at the most."

Yates, quicker to see his brother-in-law's displeasure, broke in. "Do not fear, my dear brother Edmund. Not all of them were able to come—although all deeply wished they could partake of your parents' famed hospitality. There are only about six or seven coming."

Edmund was relieved on that point, although this news had spoiled his sister's homecoming for him. He and Fanny made their departure shortly after, leaving Susan and Julia to get better acquainted without the leavening influence of the gentler manners and steadier mind of Fanny.


	3. Chapter 3

It did not take long for Susan and Julia to become the greatest of friends. Susan's admiration for her elder cousin, as well as her eager desire to hear all the foolish tales and gossip that Julia could impart, could not but endear her to Mrs. Yates. When she fearlessly declared that Althea, a bold, forward child of four, was by far more advanced and quite a bit prettier than Cassandra, the friendship was certain. For her part, Susan thought that Julia's knowledge of worldly matters and self-centered behaviour quite wonderful and earnestly desired to imitate her cousin in all things. She immediately spoilt all her frocks by ripping them up and endeavouring to remake them after Julia's styles; she began torturing her hair in an effort to have it resemble the darker, naturally curly locks of the elder woman; and, what was far worse, her natural foolishness was encouraged and deepened by their constant communication. Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram were delighted with the friendship that sprang up between the two, seeing it only as benefit for both.

"For now," said Lady Bertram innocently, "Julia will not be bored here, and might wish to stay longer, which is something we all cannot help but desire, is it not so?"

Fanny, to whom this was addressed, could not in all honesty say that it was so, but she smiled gently and murmured something indecipherable, which was enough for her aunt.

Fanny and Edmund, indeed, did not like the closeness developing between their two sisters, but neither could they put an end to it. They were forced to rely on strong hopes that Julia and Yates would tire of the country soon and return to London, and they could have the unhappy task of putting Susan's mind to rights.

However, it did not look as though Julia had any intentions of leaving at any time soon. Yates, Tom, and Sir Thomas went out shooting every morning, while Julia and Susan rode together all over Mansfield park. Fanny had been half-heartedly invited to join them, but her horsemanship had never proceeded to their level, and she was forced to decline. With every day that passed, it seemed as though Julia and Yates were there to stay.

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Soon they began preparing for their house party and Susan's ball. The two were to closely coincide, so that Susan should not lose any time of associating with the company. In fact, the ball had been irrevocably scheduled for the very day after the party should arrive. Fanny had gently suggested it be held later, but as she could not come up with a reasonable excuse, and was unwilling to give her real reason—that of her conviction of the very great folly of letting Susan spend much time with any friends of Julia's—no notice was taken of her. Susan, indeed, saw that her sister was trying to keep her from the delights of being _out_, and was bitterly resentful. Since Julia's arrival, Susan had grown further and further apart from Fanny. What had before been mild annoyance over Fanny's preoccupation with her family and her utter dependence on Edmund before she could make any decisions, now blossomed into full-blown anger over her perceived injustices at her sister's hands. Why, had Fanny not urged Lady Bertram to keep Susan there at Mansfield, she might have visited Julia a year or so ago. And had Fanny not always tried to keep her sober and steady, she might have been the belle of country, instead of the barely known niece of Sir Thomas Bertram's. and if Fanny were not always trying to make her feel guilt over spending so much time with Julia, she might be able to enjoy their talks more. Although, to be sure, her conscience was already becoming so hardened by her peep into the world of elegance and fashion, that any guilt or discomfort she might have felt was rapidly fading. Indeed, both ladies were sufficiently hardened to think of Julia's elopement as a great joke and quite romantic, and to even soften dear Maria's offense, since it sprang out of passion and love.

"To be sure, Susan," said Julia one fine morning as they strolled through Lady Bertram's rose gardens, "It was very wrong of her, a married woman, to run away with Mr. Crawford. But indeed, I am inclined to think her worst offense was in marrying Mr. Rushworth in the first place. For truly, I think that all crimes and offenses that arise out of a true love and passion must always be forgiven. Maria's greatest crime was not that she ran away with Mr. Crawford, but that she married Mr. Rushworth without love."

"I agree with you whole-heartedly," said Susan, who likely would have agreed had Julia said that Napoleon was a great hero. "There is nothing worse, in my mind, than insipidity and coldness. Anything done out of love can be forgiven. But an offense that springs forth from a coldness of heart or an essential tameness of manner? How can anyone be expected to overlook such a thing."

"We are of one mind," said Julia, halting for a moment that her white gown may present a fine picture against the pink roses. "And, dear cousin, if I could but see you overwhelmed with your passion for a fine man to the point where you throw aside all common-sense to obey the dictates of your heart, I should be a happy woman indeed."

This happy scene presented a new idea to Susan, and for a few moments she walked in silence, imagining herself swept up into the arms of a heroic man to ride away on his coal-black stallion, to be carried off into the depths of a glowing sunset, only to emerge later as the darling of the season in London, the veritable leader of the _ton_, and known by everyone as the woman who inspired a flame of passion in a man. This led her naturally to say, "Oh! Cousin, nothing could make me happier, but I must insist on this: that the man who enflames me to such a degree must also be swept away with love for me. I could never be happy giving my whole heart to a man who is not equally in love with me. No indeed, that could never be acceptable."

"You are quite right," agreed Julia. "And that is the other of Maria's offences. The man _she_ ran away with was nowhere near in love with as much as she was with him. She allowed her vanity and desperation to fool herself into thinking he loved her. If he had loved her, he would never have left her, and things might have ended very differently. No, Maria practiced great folly there, and you must learn from her error, cousin, you must never let yourself be swept away by the depth of your feelings without being absolutely certain that the man carries the same passion for you. Perhaps even at your ball, this weekend, you may find someone to steal your heart."

"That would be the greatest felicity indeed," said Susan rapturously. "And I am exceedingly grateful for the people you and dear Yates have invited, for there is no one in the neighborhood that I could ever admire."

"No, I should think not!" said Julia. "But to be sure, Yates has some very fine friends, who have large fortunes and no prior attachments. And if you will allow my maid to prepare you for the ball, I am sure that you will have no difficulty in securing one of them. Indeed, I do not see how you could help but secure all of their hearts, dear cousin."

"Oh!" said Susan. Her ambition was settled: to swoon into the arms of a handsome man of large fortune, and to hear his melting voice telling her he could not live without her, and to run off to Gretna Green with him, was now her only desire. Nothing less than this would satisfy her from this house party. "Oh! It seems an age until they arrive! Oh, will tomorrow _never_ come?"


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:** I realized (partially thanks to Rocksey--very much appreciated) that Susan and Julia had somehow taken their characters and run away from me. Susan, in particular, ended up being a combination of Kitty Bennet and Marianne Dashwood. In this chapter I have tried to rein them back in to who they are supposed to be. Hopefully it works, and as always, I do appreciate any constructive criticism (or compliments--I never say no to those!).

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Susan was most displeased to find Fanny awaiting her in her chambers when she returned to the house. She had wished for time alone to dream of the splendid conquests she would soon be making, and she was not yet ready to allow her sister to turn her attention to practical matters.

"Good afternoon, Susan," began Fanny in her gentle voice, and Susan's heart softened slightly within her. After all, it wasn't Fanny's fault that she was so dull and boring.

"Good afternoon, sister dear," she replied, removing her bonnet and carelessly tossing it into the corner. Fanny moved to pick it up and place it in its proper place. "Fanny!" exclaimed Susan sharply. "The servants will tend to that. There is no need for you to slave away in this household anymore."

"Susan, we have much to be grateful for to our aunt and uncle," said Fanny, a gentle rebuke evident in her tone. "They are very good to us, and we should not presume upon their kindness."

"Mercy, Fanny, must you go on harping on the same subject ever and ever?" said Susan impatiently. "We have done a great deal ourselves for our aunt and uncle. If you have only come to scold me about the same things you always have done, you had best be off. I have no desire to hear such drivel."

"Drivel, Susan?" asked Fanny, a little hurt. "You used to heed my words. We used to be very good friends. I should be very sorry to have that cease simply because of any disagreements between us. Come, let us talk as we used to. I have seen far too little of you since our cousin arrived."

Susan yielded to Fanny's urging, though with very poor grace, and sat next to her sister on the settee. "What do you wish to discuss?"

"I am sure you must be very excited about your coming out ball," Fanny began.

Susan's eyes brightened. There was no topic Fanny could have introduced that would have pleased her more. "Oh yes!" she said with great eagerness. "Julia and I have been discoursing on how very enjoyable it will be. Julia is sure I will capture the hearts of every eligible man there."

"I am sure you will, for you are very pretty, Susan—far prettier than I ever was," said Fanny with a slight smile. "But make sure you carry yourself modestly and behave with decorum, for no worthy gentleman will wish to tie himself to a lady who behaves with impropriety."

"Honestly, Fanny, you speak as though I have no sense," exclaimed Susan, heedless of the fact that not a quarter of an hour earlier she had been wishing to be run away with. "I shall not bring disgrace to our family's name, if that is what you fear. Though I am sure I can never behave with such perfections as you always have, I trust that I know how to comport myself at a ball."

"I did not mean to upset you, sister," said Fanny gravely. "And indeed, I do believe that you will act perfectly becomingly, for I have great faith in your upbringing. I merely meant to drop a warning. Our cousin Julia did not always behave as she ought, and I feared for her influence over you."

"Julia has no influence over me, I assure you," boasted Susan. "I have my own mind, and will not be swayed by anyone from doing what I feel is right."

"I am glad to hear it," said Fanny, rising to leave. "Then I shall be able to attend your ball in two days with an easy heart. You know, Susan, I am most fond of you. You are my sister, and I shall always care for you. I do hate for there to be such coolness between us as there has been of late."

This was too much for Susan. Fanny's gentle manner, kind words, and faith in her behaviour did away with all her irritation in a trice. She flung her arms around Fanny and said:

"Oh! Sister, I fear I have been acting most foolishly, indeed. I have said the most ridiculous things to Julia, and I shall not be easy until you soothe away my distress." She bade Fanny sit back down and told her of all the foolish nonsense she and Julia had been talking in the gardens. Fanny, disgusted but not surprised at Julia's hardened conscience, petted Susan and soon talked some sense into her. When she finally left, Susan was much more composed than she had been since the letter informing of the Yates' visit had arrived.

Susan Price was not a wicked girl, nor even a particularly silly one. When spoken to with gentleness and calmness, she was most willing to learn. Her faults, such as they were, came from an over-active imagination, and a desire for adventure. Julia, coming from London in all her glamour and fashionable absurdity, fed Susan's dreams and encouraged her to think of wickedness as mere folly. Fanny's soft words fell upon her fevered brain as a cooling rain, and enabled her to think much more soberly than before. She now, traveling in the extreme opposite direction, promised herself to dance no more than two dances with any young man, to never speak to one without her aunt or sister nearby, and to have no more communication with Julia ever. For in nothing could Susan learn moderation. To give herself whole-heartedly to whatever she did was her curse. Even now, she would have urged her aunt and uncle to give up the ball, had not the invitations been sent out already, but as it was too late to cancel it, she was determined that she would not enjoy one moment of the evening.

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In their chambers, Julia and Mr. Yates were conversing before going down for dinner.

"You seem to be getting along well with your young cousin, my dear," commented Yates languidly as he ruffled up his cravat.

Julia laughed. "Oh, Susan! She is most susceptible. It is indeed most amusing to play upon her innocence. She has been so sheltered here with Fanny and Edmund that is really gives me great pleasure to expose her to a broader view of the world."

"Training her mind, eh?" asked Yates.

"The silly girl will swallow anything I say. I declare, I thought coming down here to ask Papa for money was going to be most dull, but having Susan here has livened it up considerably for me. Do you know, I actually have her believing she cannot be happy unless she elopes with someone this week?"

"Well, my dear, it did seem to work for you," laughed Yates.

"Oh! Yes, but just imagine how droll it would be for us if she did run off! Imagine the look on Edmund's face, and the horror Papa and Tom would express. It would be too funny."

"It would be a bit awkward for us if she ran off with one of our friends just as we were asking your father for money, though, so I pray you would convince her to not elope while we are still here, my love."

"Oh Yates, you are too ridiculous," said Julia. "As if any of our friends would care for a simple little girl like Susan. Believe me, dearest, there is not the slightest danger of Susan eloping with anyone. All I have done is give her a pretty little romantic dream that will die away after we leave, and she will go and marry some excellent farmer and raise pigs and children together in a dark, tiny house, and be most happy all her days."

"So long as you are sure, my dear," said Yates. He offered his wife his arm. "Shall we go down, love?"

They went down to dinner together, neither with the slightest stain on their conscience over their cavalier treatment of Susan, for whom Julia had professed such fondness, and toward whom she truly bore no ill will.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Author's Note: _**_I realize this has been a long time in coming, and is dreadfully short. My apologies. My LM Montgomery story was rather absorbing, but now that I have finished with it, I can focus more on this one. Next chapter should be more interesting (I hope!); this was more of a "filler." As always, reviews are much appreciated (and will prompt quicker updates).

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Susan had wished greatly to spend the day of the arrival of the house party with Fanny and Edmund, so as to avoid being even in the same house as any of them. She positively blushed when she recalled her foolish words to Julia not one day previous. Her greatest fear now was that her cousin would take her literally and arrange for her to be run off with. She desired only to be hidden away from them until the next evening, when her ball was scheduled, for there, surely, nothing improper could be done, not with her aunt and uncle and dear sister there.

As the fates would have it, however, Susan was not to be spared. Lady Bertram expressed mild astonishment as Susan's request to spend the day at the Mansfield parsonage.

"Why, Susan, whatever would you do there, for surely Fanny and Edmund will be here to welcome Julia's guests. And I most certainly could not do without you."

Susan saw that her aunt was truly distressed, despite her calm words, and resigned herself with a sigh to remaining. However, she soon cheered herself up with the thought that at least Fanny would be there to support her.

Alas! A short while before the guests were due, a letter came from Fanny, saying that Edmund had duties in the parish to which he must attend, and Cassandra had such a bad cough that she didn't feel that she could leave her with only the nurse.

"Dear me!" said Lady Bertram calmly. "Poor Fanny. It must be quite distressing to have to miss such an occasion as this. I am sure she will feel the loss greatly, you know, Susan, she is so fond of good company. Dear, dear."

Susan couldn't help but think that any friends of Julia's could hardly be considered good company to Fanny. She was most distressed over her niece's illness herself, and worried about not having Fanny there to support her. Too well she knew her own weaknesses, and she feared that she might not be able to remain strong in the face of so much fashion and folly, being left to her own devices.

"Never mind, Mama," said Julia, who was hovering impatiently around the door. "Is that a ring? Have they come? Mama, do you think they have arrived?" It being ascertained that nobody had arrived, Julia continued in the same vein. "After all, if Cassandra is ill, she might affect Althea, and that would be truly dreadful. It is best that Fanny stay home so as to keep all the sickness in one place."

"Oh! I had not considered Althea," reflected Lady Bertram. "Yes, undoubtedly you are correct"—

But Julia could not bear the courtesy of hearing the rest of her mother's statement. "Oh! Was that them? Dear me, it seems as though they will never come. Do you not long passionately to see them, Susan?"

Susan, burning with resentment on her aunt's behalf, ignored Julia. "What were you saying, dear aunt?" she inquired solicitously.

Lady Bertram being unable to recall what she had been saying, silence reigned in the sitting room for a few moments. Julia, truly desirous of seeing her friends, and also piqued at Susan's apparent indifference toward her, held her hands out merrily.

"Come, cousin, let us go to the front door and await our guests there. That way we shall be able to see them as their carriages come up the drive, and converse while we await. Come, I shan't take no for an answer."

Susan picked up her embroidery, which she usually loathed, and stitched away industriously at it. "No thank you, Julia. I do not think it would be very proper, and I do not feel that we should leave your mother alone."

This was undoubtedly true, and it angered Julia. Her face grew red, and she exclaimed quickly, "I think I know what is proper and improper in my own house, thank you very much! You are not suggesting I do not know what is due my mother, are you? She is _my_ mother, after all, not yours."

"Of course," answered Susan with seeming unconcern, an inscrutable mask over her features.

Julia hesitated for a moment more, then sat herself down on the settee. "Very well. It wouldn't do to appear too eager to see them, anyway. They might think that we had nothing better to do with our time." She bit her lip and looked around. Seeing nothing to amuse her, she sprang up again and resumed pacing. "Come, Susan, take a turn around the room with me."

Susan did not wish to, but she dared not appear unobliging, so she set her stitching aside and rose. Julia immediately tucked her arm inside her own and squeezed it chummily.

"I am so glad you will be able to meet everybody, cousin," she began. She wasn't sure how it had happened, but she sensed that Susan's fascination with her was at an end, and she was most determined to regain it. "I have sung your praises until all the ladies are simply dying of jealousy, and the gentlemen are wild to meet you—especially one in particular." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Susan couldn't help but be interested in such information, but her conversation with her sister still rang warningly in her ears. "Oh?" she asked coolly.

"Yes indeed, and do not ask me who it is, for I promised him I would not say a word to any soul, so I will not tell you, though you teaze ever so much."

"Then there seems little point in my inquiring," said Susan, although she was growing more curious by the moment.

Julia saw the spark of interest in her cousin's eyes, and laughed, feeling assured of her power once more. "You sly thing! Very well, I will tell you just this. He is very rich, titled, and simply too handsome for words. Upon my soul, were I not already married, I would be wholly envious of you, for he can think of nothing but meeting you."

A titled suitor sounded wonderful to Susan's romantic heart, but before she could get too swept away, the butler entered the room and announced the arrival of the house party, eliciting a gasp of delight from Julia, leaving Susan's firm resolve slightly shaken, and awakening Lady Bertram from a pleasant doze.


	6. Chapter 6

Susan was quite overwhelmed with meeting Julia and Yates' friends. There was not above a half-dozen of them, and yet the ladies were so tall and well-formed, the gentlemen so large and loud, such a rustling of silks and velvets and jewels and cravats, that poor Susan, standing beside her aunt in a simple muslin frock, felt dreadfully shy and young. She would most gladly have stayed out of sight had not Julia seized her arm and brought her forth to be introduced.

"Sir Richard and Lady Rochester…Lady Anna Greaves…Mr. Firth…Lord and Lady Montgomery…Lord Marcus Grimsby…my cousin, Miss Susan Price."

The ladies bowed haughtily and asked her how she did before retiring behind their fans to whisper criticisms upon her frock, her hair, her figure, and everything else of which they could think. The gentlemen were slightly more polite, many paying meaningless compliments as they bowed over her hand. Lord Marcus Grimsby immediately caught Susan's eye, being tall, dark of hair and complexion, and most handsome, with a fascinating aura of wealth and boredom mingled emanating from him. He appraised her so boldly that Susan felt most shy, and was greatly relieved when Julia ordered the servants to shew the guests to their chambers that they might rest from their travels and dress before dinner.

Very quickly the hall emptied, leaving Susan dazed and shaken by her first brush with the _ton_.

"Now, Susan," began Julia peremptorily. "I do not wish for you to appear at a disadvantage toward my acquaintances, so I wish for you to borrow one of my gowns for this evening. Yours simply will not do at all. I have already instructed my personal maidservant to alter one of my loveliest frocks for you, and I simply insist upon you wearing it tonight. I will not take no for an answer!"

"You are very kind," began Susan doubtfully. "But I am not sure of its propriety, as I am not truly _out_ yet, and will not be until tomorrow night. Should I not wait to dress as a young lady until I am officially one?"

"La!" exclaimed Julia. "You put me all out of countenance. I declare, you have been listening to Edmund's everlasting sermons on propriety and manners until you have not any idea of how things are truly done. There is no harm in looking well when in company with a large group of fashionable ladies and gentlemen. Indeed, it would be far more rude for you to appear before them poorly dressed than to hurry up your coming out by one evening. It would be an insult to them, as well as reflecting badly upon my mama and papa. You do not wish to do that, do you?"

No, Susan did not. She dearly wished Fanny were there to advise her. Julia's arguments seemed most logical and persuasive, yet Susan could not quite bring herself to act upon them. She turned to Lady Bertram.

"What do you think, ma'am?" she asked courteously.

"Oh! By all means, borrow Julia's dress, my dear," answered her aunt, fanning herself languidly. "I should so like to see you looking fine, and you know it always pleases your uncle to see you in pretty frocks—is it not so, Sir Thomas?" turning to her husband.

"Eh, what?" said Sir Thomas, who had not been heeding the conversation, but rather wondering with displeasure just how good of friends these dissipated-looking young people were to his daughter. "By all means, just so," he said hastily. "A capital suggestion, my dear. Certainly, certainly."

"There, now you see?" laughed Julia merrily. She took Susan's arm. "You surely cannot refuse now, when even my father wishes you to do so. Come, cousin, it would so please me."

Thus besieged on every side, Susan yielded. After all, it would be pleasant to prove to these fine London ladies that she was capable of being just as fine as they, and if her aunt and uncle thought it proper, surely even Fanny could not disapprove.

* * *

Surveying herself in Julia's dressing-room mirror prior to going downstairs for dinner, Susan was by no means as certain. The gown Julia had chosen for her was certainly lovely, made of an stylish creamy silk, with short sleeves and gold trimming, yet the deep v-neck seemed to expose so much of her bosom and shoulders, that modest Susan quite blushed when she saw her reflection. The long, elegant train charmed her mind somewhat, but still she was uneasy about the whole ensemble, and begged Julia to allow her to drape a shawl or scarf about her exposed shoulders.

"Nonsense!" said Julia. "You look perfectly charming, I'm sure."

"But my neck appears so bare," pleaded Susan.

Julia observed her critically. "True," she finally decided. "I have just the thing." Rushing to her jewelry box, she fetched out a long chain of large stones set in heavy gold settings. She fastened it around Susan's neck, where it fell quite to the point of the V, which had the effect, so poor, inexperienced Susan felt, of only drawing one's attention further to her bosom.

"Oh no, cousin," she attempted to protest. "This is far too fine for me. Surely you will want it for yourself."

Julia laughed gaily. "Truth, Susan, you are as timid as church mouse. I would not give this to you did I not think it would look most elegant—as indeed, it does. Come my dear cousin, you must not be so shy, really, it is most unbecoming in a woman your age. One might almost think you considered yourself better than other women, by refusing to dress yourself according to fashion. Truly, do you think that I am immodest or unbecoming?" She paraded up and down before her cousin, who was forced to admit that, while Julia's dress was even more revealing than her own, she looked quite like a fashion plate. "There, you see?" said Julia triumphantly. "Now, we will just have Mary finish your hair and be quite ready."

"Oh no—surely my hair is acceptable," said Susan, putting a hand up to her smooth locks.

"La! No lady should ever think of going to dinner with her hair done in that simple and stupid way." Julia called Mary, the maid, over, and between the two of them they accomplished such a curling and braiding, with such an abundance of feathers and jewels, that when they were finished Susan hardly recognized herself.

She was forced to admit that she looked very elegant, though she could not think that Fanny would approve. Still, it _was_ pleasant to be gowned and coiffed as other ladies. She wavered for a moment, wondering if she ought to refuse to go down while dressed like this, or if she should accept Julia's advice. She did not wish to set herself up as a paragon of virtue. Julia saw her hesitation and hastened to assure her own victory.

"I believe I can tell you now, Susan dear, the name of your wealthy admirer, as I am certain you must have guessed it from his quite obvious admiration of you this forenoon. It is none other than Lord Marcus Grimsby! Is that not too delicious?"

Susan flushed becomingly, adding a pretty color to her white neck and chest. She thought that she had detected a hint of admiration in Lord Marcus's bold gaze, but she had dismissed it as an overactive imagination.

"He is the younger son of the Duke of Capouse, you know," continued Julia, heartlessly pleased with the effect she was having on her young, impressionable cousin. "And he is very handsome and wealthy. You will be the envy of all London if he should chuse to pursue you. And you know, you really look so pretty in that gown, that I would not be surprised if he were to lose his heart to you this very night! And then tomorrow, at your ball, so long as you place yourself wholly in my hands, I am sure he will become quite wild over you."

"But Julia," protested Susan, trying with great difficulty not to let herself be swept away once more by her cousin's enticing words and flattery, "If he is the son of a duke, surely his family would object to his paying attentions to me. I might be Sir Thomas Bertram's niece, but my own father is merely a retired Naval officer. No nobleman would deign to entertain a notion of me."

"Well, perhaps not officially, but he could very well be encouraged to run off with you to Gretna Green," whispered Julia slyly.

Susan stood up straight and looked directly at Julia. "You know, cousin, I do believe we were talking nonsense yesterday, with all our dreams of being run-off with. It would not be at all respectable, and a great humiliation to my uncle, as well as ingratitude for the home he has so kindly granted to me for these past four years."

"Oh well…"said Julia pettishly. "You do think yourself better than me, do you not? You think me unrespectable and a humiliation to my family! Indeed, here is gratitude for all I've tried to do for you. There is very little respect for married women these days among the young, to be sure!"

"Oh! I pray you cousin, do not be angry!" pleaded Susan. "I did not mean to say a disparaging word against you. No, I only meant that for one in my position, as a humble _protégée_ of my uncle, it would be most improper. I should never dream of censoring your behavior, for surely you know what is right and wrong for a woman in your position, just as I am learning what is for one in mine." This mollifying speech, though not entirely truthful, had the desired effect, for Julia soon smiled again affably.

"There, I knew you didn't mean it," she said triumphantly. "And to shew you that I bear you no ill-will, I will tell you a secret. I convinced Mama to let me order your gown for tomorrow's ball. I knew she would do a very poor job of it, so I did it myself. I meant to surprize you tomorrow with it, but I simply cannot keep a secret."

Susan felt almost overwhelmed at Julia's kindness, and a little ashamed of her harsh thoughts toward her. Perhaps, after all, Julia did mean well by her, though Susan was by no means ready to forget herself again and act improperly. "You are very good," she said humbly.

"Indeed, I flatter myself that I am," laughed Julia. "Now, promise me that you'll turn yourself over entirely to myself and Mary for the ball tomorrow, and not say a word about anything, and we'll go downstairs."

It seemed an easy promise to make, after Julia had been so kind as to take the trouble of ordering Susan's gown for her, that she agreed most readily, and the two went downstairs, met at the top and accompanied by Yates.

* * *

All through that dinner, and indeed on into the evening, when cards were brought out and the young ladies were competing for the chance to shew off their skills at performing, whether it be on the pianoforte or vocally or on the harp, Lord Marcus devoted himself to Susan with flattering admiration. He did not speak much, but what he did say was accompanied by such hidden meaning in his dark eyes that Susan was quite in danger of losing both her head and her heart.

To a young lady who had never before had any attention paid to her by any gentleman, such a one as Lord Marcus was most dangerous. Sir Thomas, disgusted at the behavior of the house party, had retired to his study as soon as the meal was complete, and Lady Bertram was dozing comfortably on the sofa; hence, Susan was left quite without any concerned person to guide her and give her words of warning, for Julia was quite delighted with Lord Marcus's obvious attraction.

To be sure, Lady Anna Greaves, the only other unmarried lady of the party, dropped several broad hints to Lord Marcus about better places to turn his attention—namely, toward herself—but the gentleman ignored her adroitly, chusing instead to devote himself to drawing out Susan Price's admiration and infatuation, speaking to her of his family estate—hinting that she should come see it at some point; talking of the bores of the London society—indicating that he far preferred her company to anyone else's; speaking of his very great admiration for tall, fair ladies—with his eyes fixed unmistakably on her light hair and pale skin. Oh yes, let there be no mistake, he set himself out to win her heart, without once having any true feelings of affection or admiration for her, seeing her merely as an amusement and diversion to while away his time in the country.


	7. Chapter 7

Unfortunately for Susan, and rather more fortunately for Julia, Cassandra's cold only worsened upon the following day, which meant that the distraught Fanny, fearing her daughter was sickening with some dreadful disease, utterly refused to leave her side for one moment, leaving Susan entirely to the mercies of her unscrupulous cousin. What Lord Marcus had begun the preceding evening, Julia hastened to complete.

"Why, cousin," Julia began immediately the following morning once the two girls had settled Lady Bertram comfortably, assuring her that yes, it was indeed a great pity about Cassandra, and Fanny would surely be sorry to miss the ball, "I hardly know whether to congratulate you on your conquest—a duke's son, before you are even officially _out_!—or me on bringing you to his attention. Truly, though, I think we both deserve equal praise, for had I not praised you to him before he even met you, and had the charge of your toilette last evening, he wouldn't have thought to notice you, but had you not exerted your charm and wit, all my efforts would have been in vain."

"Oh!" Susan exclaimed, quite overwhelmed, and already more than half in love with the dashing Lord Marcus, "Oh cousin, I did nothing. Indeed, all the while he was speaking to me last night, I was so afraid he would think me a little country mouse, for I simply could not think of one clever or witty thing to say to him."

"All the better," Julia answered promptly. "Men don't truly care for clever women, whatever some may say. No, your shy smiles and downcast eyes did far more to capture his heart than all the clever speeches in the world."

"Capture his heart!" Susan blushed deeply. "Julia, surely you jest. It—it is positively unthinkable that a great man such as Lord Marcus should—should—fall in love with me. No, you are only teazing me."

"Indeed I am not," Julia smiled. "For Yates spoke to Lord Marcus last night before they retired, and he says that Lord Marcus was simply wild over you—could think of nothing else, and certainly spoke of nothing else."

As a matter of fact, the conversation between the two gentlemen had run more along the lines of Yates heartily congratulating Lord Marcus on _his_ conquest of Susan's susceptible heart, and Lord Marcus' complacent self-admiration for the deed, but Julia found it far more amusing to relate it as she did.

Susan's hands flapped wildly in the air. "Truly! Julia, you would not jest with me?"

"Of course not!" Julia replied with apparent sincerity. "Matters of the heart are no fodder for jests."

"But what shall I _do_?" gasped poor Susan.

"Do? Why, you shall simply be your usual charming and lovely self tonight at your ball, and complete your conquest."

"And—and then what? Will he speak to my uncle? Shall we be betrothed? Oh Julia, do you think it possible that I might become his—his _wife_?"

"My dear!" Julia laid a hand on Susan's arm. "It does not do to think too far ahead in such matters. What Lord Marcus will do, what my father will do—those issues need not concern you. That will all work out. All you need to do—indeed, I find it quite unmaidenly to think of anything beyond this—is exert all your powers, and receive such attentions as he should shew you with gratitude and eagerness, and simply think of the moment."

Susan's eyes a-glow, her former resolutions of steadiness and modesty swept away under this heady infatuation, accepted Julia's advice, and retired to her room to dream eagerly of the coming evening, when Lord Marcus might profess his love for her, and she could return it with fervour!

The day seemed impossibly long, but eventually Julia and her maid appeared in Susan's chamber to deck her in all her ballroom finery. The dress Julia had ordered had arrived on time, and Susan was quite overwhelmed by its splendour. A pale pink satin trimmed with gold edging, accompanied by more of Julia's eye-catching jewels, turned the demure young lady into a fashionable _debutante_, especially once Mary finished torturing her hair into innumerable curls and kinks.

"I feel so very fashionable," giggled Susan, looking at her reflection in the mirror Mary held before her. "Though I must say I don't look a bit like myself."

"Nonsense," scoffed Julia, herself resplendent in a daring purple velvet. "You look quite grand, and I'm sure Lord Marcus will agree. Mary, fetch my paints, Miss Susan is a bit pale."

"Paints! Oh Julia, I could not. I am sure Aunt Bertram would never approve. How many times have I heard Edmund lecture on the evils painted women inflict upon society …"

Julia laughed scornfully. "Dear me, if we are to live by Edmund's standards, we should all live very dull lives and die young out of sheer boredom. And Susan dear, Mama herself used paint in her younger days. It simply isn't the thing to look all washed out and pale. Do you want to embarrass my father by appearing as a frightened little ghost at the coming-out ball he is so kind as to host in your honour?"

Susan was still uncertain—she knew Fanny never painted—but Mary effectively ended any hope of argument by coming back in and efficiently applying the paint to Susan's cheeks and lips without allowing her another chance to speak.

"There," said Julia with satisfaction. "Now you are quite the credit to me. Oh my!" as someone knocked on the door. "Here are Yates and Papa, come to fetch us down. Now Susan, remember everything I've told you: do your very best to secure Lord Marcus' affections, do not fuss or worry about any consequences, stop fretting over what Fanny and Edmund would think, and above all, enjoy yourself, my dear."

Susan impulsively hugged her older cousin. "Julia, I am truly grateful for all your kind attentions to me during your visit. I shall never forget your condescension, nor your amiable, disinterested good-heartedness."

"La! But you are a demonstrative thing, aren't you?" laughed Julia uncomfortably, straightening her coiffure. Susan's warm-hearted sincerity affected even her hardened conscience, and she was suddenly uneasily aware of how little she deserved such commendation. Before she could repent to the point of action, however, Susan had opened the door and rushed out to greet her uncle, and Julia's moment had passed.

Reassuring herself that every young girl needed a romantic dream, and no true harm would come to Susan from her schemes, Julia swept out to join her husband and follow Susan and Sir Thomas down the stairs.

"Do I not look fine, Uncle?" Susan asked timidly, seeing him frown disapprovingly.

"Humph, very fine," he said, with heavy emphasis on _very_. "I suppose all this sort of thing is necessary?" indicating her crimped hair, rouged cheeks, and exposed bosom.

"Oh yes," Susan said assuredly. "—At least that's what Julia says."

"She would know," he stated. "I must say, I myself prefer neatness and simplicity—like your sister Fanny—but if this is the way it must be, then so be it."

His criticism worried Susan slightly, but she reminded herself that Julia said she was entirely proper, and even a beauty, and she comfortably told herself that Sir Thomas was simply behind the times, and couldn't be expected to appreciate what was fashionable.

Certainly the murmurs of admiration that rose upon her entrance into the drawing room, where the rest of the house party was gathered to await their hosts, fell very pleasingly upon her inexperienced ears. To be sure, Lady Anna sneered rather blatantly from the scant screen of her fan, and Ladies Rochester and Montgomery whispered behind their gloved hands, but the gentlemen shewed much more appreciation, and Lord Marcus hastened over at once, taking her from Sir Thomas with all the arrogance of a young nobleman, much to the older gentleman's distaste.

"Miss Price, might I be allowed to say that your beauty tonight far outshines your previous charms—a feat I thought impossible before now?" he murmured in her ear. "You grace this company with your splendour."

Susan, blushing far more scarlet than the paint had made her, whispered something inaudible in reply.

Lord Marcus smiled in a superior fashion. "I wished to ask you this before, Miss Price, but I could not find a propitious moment. If you are not already engaged, might I have the honour of the first two dances?"

Susan thrilled down to her slippered toes. To be asked such a question, by Lord Marcus! At that moment, she asked for nothing more from her first ball. She opened her mouth to say yes, when a firm hand grasped her other elbow, and a clear, ringing voice that seemed to wake up the entire party, said:

"Terribly sorry, old boy, but I'm afraid the first two are mine."

Susan looked in astonishment to see her cousin Tom, absent from home these past five months on business, standing by her side, smiling amiable at the scowling Lord Marcus.

"After all, as the eldest son of the house, it is my duty to escort my cousin. And my pleasure," he added, looking down at Susan. "'Pon my word, Susan, you have blossomed overnight. When did you become such a little beauty, eh? Ah, good evening Father, Mother, Julia, Yates," nodding to his family. "Just got in an hour ago, didn't want to disturb anyone. I thought I'd surprize you with my unexpected arrival, but the surprize is on me, that I am here just in time for Susan's ball!"

Though Susan was disappointed at not having Lord Marcus as her escort, she couldn't help smiling at Tom. He had always been far more to her liking than Edmund, being high-spirited and full of life, though much more sober-minded now than in his youth. So it was that she was able to say truthfully to him as they prepared to enter the ballroom:

"I am very glad to see you, Tom."

"And glad I am to be here," was his reply. "Who are all these people, anyway? Ah, friends of Julia's? I might have guessed. Listen to me, Susan, they none of them have sterling reputations, and Lord Marcus—well, I should hate to see you entangle yourself with him. You needn't be rude unless forced to it—though it wouldn't bother me in the slightest to see him receive a dressing-down, I should hate for it to happen in my father's house. But still, stay away from him as much as possible."

Susan frowned pettishly. "Truly Tom, you are starting to sound like Edmund! Lord Marcus has not said anything improper to me, nor I to him, and I certainly shan't be rude to him. I don't know what it is you fear; you cannot imagine I would do anything to disgrace my uncle."

Tom sighed and patted her hand. "Of course not, Susan. I just wished to drop a friendly hint. I meant no offence, dear cousin. Forgive me?"

He smiled so engagingly that Susan could not hold her pique a moment longer, and her smile answered his like a sunbeam. "Of course, cousin. How could I be angry at anyone on such a glorious occasion as this?"

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Do not faint! Yes, I have finally managed to update this. I humbly apologize for the ridiculously long delay, and hope I haven't lost all my readers. I have no excuse, but if you see the plethora of LM Montgomery stories I've been writing, my absence from here might be at least understandable. As always, reviews make me very happy, whether they are constructive criticism or flamboyant praise, and might even help me to update more frequently! Happy reading :)_


	8. Chapter 8

Susan's first ball was everything she could ever have possibly wished. From the first moment when she entered the ballroom on Tom's arm, to the many compliments she received from the happy couples gathered together for the evening's entertainment, to the fact that she never lacked for a partner the entire evening, to Julia's whispered assurances that she was breaking the hearts of _all_ the eligible young gentlemen there, to Lady Anna's cold praise of her dancing ability—it was all conducive to an excess of delight.

Sitting out one dance by her aunt, from respect more than inclination, for Susan would have been most happy to dance every dance, she had the opportunity to witness the spectacle from a more detached view.

"Is it not lovely, Aunt?" she said happily, watching the glittering throng whirl and prance.

"Yes, most charming," Lady Bertram said tranquilly, admiring the lace on the sleeve of her gown. "You look most charming, too," she added, obviously making an effort. "It was truly kind of Julia to help you dress."

"Indeed it was," Susan agreed. "And she looks quite lovely herself," watching her cousin spin by on the arm of Lord Rochester.

"Yes, Julia is quite the beauty," commented Lady Bertram. "Almost as pretty as I myself was in her day. You may not believe it now, Susan dear, but I was once the belle of the county."

"Oh but Aunt, I do believe it!" Susan protested, quite ready to enter into admiration—and indeed, there was not so much untruth in her statement as one might be led to believe, for Lady Bertram, though now shewing somewhat the effects of her indolent lifestyle, was still a rather handsome woman.

"Your mother was considered fairly handsome, as well," Lady Bertram continued, happily pursuing her old memories. "You look rather like her, Susan—far more so than Fanny, who, though quite pretty, has nothing like your attractiveness."

"Oh Aunt," protested Susan with all the warmth of a doating younger sister, "Fanny is an angel. I'm sure I shall never be half so pretty as she."

"I hope, Susan," remarked Sir Thomas gravely, who had been standing by his wife's side nearly unnoticed all this while, "That you admire your sister's manners as well as her face and figure. 'Handsome is as handsome does,' you know, and while good looks may fade, a steady spirit, sober mind, and good breeding will never pass away."

"Yes, Uncle," Susan said carelessly, not hearing above half this, being distracted by the sight of Lady Anne speaking animatedly to Lord Marcus in the far corner of the room. Her heart burning with jealousy over their apparent intimacy, she instantly forgot Tom's warning and rose to her feet.

"Pardon me, Aunt," she barely remembered to say, "But Miss Ames, over there, is without a partner, and I do not wish her to feel neglected."

"Very commendable," was Sir Thomas' approving remark as Susan strolled casually across the room to speak to the young and undeniably dowdy Miss Ames, daughter of the local squire. Her gesture had the desired effect, for Lord Marcus looked from his conversation with Lady Anna, saw her passing in front of him without so much as a glance in his direction, and instantly moved toward her, leaving an infuriated Lady Anna behind.

He caught up with Susan in a few steps.

"Miss Price," in tones calculated to melt the coldest heart, "I fear I have not had the chance to dance with you this evening—an error I wish to rectify right now, if you'll allow."

"You are most kind, sir," Susan answered, a sudden desire for mischief burning in her heart, combined with a genuinely unselfish wish to please Miss Ames, "But I am on my way to speak with my friend, who as you see is without a partner, and I would not wish to leave her alone."

Lord Marcus glanced at Miss Ames, and his lip curled scornfully for a moment before he smoothed his expression back to its usual inscrutable calm. "I see. Then if I can find that young lady a partner, you will dance with me?"

"I was thinking rather that you should ask her to dance first," Susan answered, her eyes sparkling. "And then I would be more than honoured to receive your request."

A crimson wave suffused the young nobleman's face, and had Susan looked at him in that moment, she would have recoiled with horror and repugnance. Her eyes were downcast, however, as she did not want him to see how much she was enjoying teazing him. His face softened again, and he bowed his head.

"If that is your wish, I will comply with my hand on my heart," he said shortly, seeing no gracious way out of it.

In moments, Miss Ames was looking at him in awe and undisguised joy at the thought of dancing with the handsomest and wealthiest man in the room, and the two joined the crowd on the floor, leaving Susan watching blithely from the sidelines.

Lord Marcus saw her merry face, and understood that she had deliberately undertaken to make him look a fool. In that moment, burning with resentment at his undignified position, he swore to humiliate her at least equally, and began scheming at that very moment how to repay her for her indiscretion.

Susan, who honestly had meant no harm, enjoyed watching her friend glow as she whirled about the floor, for once the centre of attention. Still, she could deny that she was made even happier when, the dance ended, Lord Marcus approached her, an eager light burning in his dark eyes.

"I trust that nothing else will interfere with our dance?" he asked her.

"Not a thing," Susan answered prettily, holding out her hand. "And I do so want to thank you for your kindness toward Miss Ames. You have given her something to boast of for the next twelvemonth."

Anger stirred again in Lord Marcus at the thought of a simple, plain country girl being able to boast of having any connexion to _him_, younger son to the Duke of Capouse! He concealed his fury beneath a practiced smile, and spent the rest of the dance murmuring compliments guaranteed to woo any young lady in Susan's ear.

She thrilled to every word, and at the end of their set, when he whisked her out the window to the moonlit terrace, she felt no fear, no compunction, only a dazzling anticipation.

"My dear Susan—and so I must call you, for 'Miss Price' will sit on my tongue no more," Lord Marcus began, his eyes burning into hers, "I can conceal my love for you no longer. You are the very perfection of the female form to me. You are all the Graces and Muses, you are a very goddess—Venus herself arrived on earth in human form. Susan, I must have you for my own. Say you will be mine—do not leave me in this torment one moment more!"

"I will—oh, of course I will be yours," breathed Susan. She raised a glowing face to his, and he swept her into his arms as though to kiss her. She closed her eyes, the better to feel the moment, but before their lips met, he raised his head.

"Not here—we are in danger of being seen. I fear, my love, that your uncle and cousin do not approve of me. We must keep our engagement a secret for the moment."

"I understand," gasped Susan. Oh, _this_ was romance indeed!

"My father, too—_he_ would not understand me marrying outside my station, though once he meets you, my darling, all will be made plain to him, for who could fail but to succumb to your charms? But for now, no one must know—not even Mrs. Yates."

"Oh, but Julia would not hinder us," Susan protested, feeling that half the delight of a secret engagement would be gone if she could not share it with at least one person. "She fully approves of you, and she herself eloped, so she would not disapprove."

Lord Marcus shook his head firmly. "No, not even her. She may bear us goodwill, but I would not risk her tongue slipping and alerting someone else to our agreement. But elopement—ah yes, I fear that is the only answer for us now. Once we are wed, none will be able to separate us, no matter how much they disapprove." He glanced up alertly. "Someone comes. Meet me here tomorrow, at midnight, and we shall fly to Gretna Green. Once there, our fate shall be sealed, and we shall be joined as one, forever and ever. My own little love!" Once more he bent his head as though to kiss her, then pulled away with a groan. "Someone comes," he repeated, and vanished into the garden.

Not wanting to meet anyone just then, Susan slipped along the terrace and into the billiard room, which was unoccupied at that moment. From there she informed a maid that she was far too fatigued to continue dancing and asked her to inform Lady Bertram that Miss Susan had retired for the evening. The niceties attended to, she went up to her chamber, not to sleep, but to think about the delicious secret that was hers. A secret engagement! Married to Lord Marcus Grimsby! An elopement to Gretna Green! Escape from her cruel guardians at midnight tomorrow! Nothing else could fill her mind, and no hope of rationality was now available for her. Her will was firmly set, and had Fanny herself been there to reason with her, Susan would not have been swayed. Her only true concern now was how to get through the day tomorrow without anyone suspecting anything—for she knew that her state of excitement would be clear to anyone who cared to look.

She decided that she would go over to Fanny and Edmund's first thing, there to spend the day at little Cassandra's bedside, freeing Fanny to tend to her usual duties. Nobody would dare dissuade her from an act of charity, and Cassandra was surely the safest companion—for a child of three could hardly betray such a secret, especially not one as ill as Cassandra.

With that determined, Susan set about packing a bag to take with her on her flight, dreaming happily all the while.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ Two chapters in as many days! I doubt I will keep up this level of updating, but I hope at least to get up the result of the elopement in the next few days. Please do let me know what you think; I thrive on reviews!_


	9. Chapter 9

True to her resolution, Susan set off for Mansfield Parsonage before breakfast the next morning. As befitting a young lady planning her elopement, she had not slept at all the previous night; however, a lack of sleep seemed to have affected her not at all, save perhaps to make her even sillier and more giddy than usual. She carried on several dream adventures whilst she walked, including one particularly exciting scene where Tom, Edmund, and Sir Thomas chased her and Lord Marcus halfway across the countryside, coming perilously close to catching them until Lord Marcus swept her up before him on his dashing black steed, and they flew across the land, leaving her cruel and unfeeling relations far, far behind.

Sighing happily at such pleasing visions, it took Susan a moment to realize she was not alone. She quite started when she realized Tom was strolling casually by her side.

"Goodness, cousin!" she cried, one hand to her throat. "How you frightened me. Whatever are you doing?"

"Escorting you to breakfast at Edmund and Fanny's, of course," Tom responded, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "I meant to join you before you left the house, but you rushed out in such a hurry, I only had my cravat half-tied, and by the time I completed my task, I positively had to fly to catch up with you. Why in such a rush, cousin?"

Susan bit her lips nervously. She decidedly did _not_ want to see Tom today; out of all the people who might discover her secret, it was he she most feared. Not only was he far more observant than Edmund, quicker to come to judgement than Fanny, and more intelligent than the rest of his family altogether, he also was the one person she feared could actually stop her from eloping. He might—why, he might even challenge Lord Marcus to a duel if he thought Susan's honour was compromised! And as romantic as two men fighting a duel over one might sound, Susan felt it lost considerable romance when one of those men was one's cousin, and only fighting for the family name.

"I am not joining Fan and Edmund for breakfast," she said, trying to sound careless. "I am watching Cass, so that Fanny might have a free day."

"That is exceedingly generous of you, Susan!" Tom exclaimed approvingly. "And after your coming-out ball, to so bury yourself … truly, you have a kind nature, indeed. I have always felt, looking at your attentions to my mother, and your respect for my father, that you had the very best of hearts, and now I am certain of it."

Susan flushed. She very much disliked being praised for disinterested kindness when her true motive was so selfish, but she could not correct Tom without giving away her secret. "I fear you are far too charitable, Tom," was all she could say.

"Nay, you must allow me to praise you. It does not do to be overly modest about your abilities and talents, you know, Susan. One might think you were seeking more credit by downplaying yourself, you know. Not that I would attribute such low motives to you, but others who don't know you as well might. Now that you are _out_, you must become accustomed to receiving compliments graciously." He looked sideways at her. "I wager that if Lord Marcus were to compliment you, you would not dismiss it so lightly, eh?"

"Whyever would you bring Lord Marcus up?" Susan asked, trying to hide her sudden nervousness.

Tom laughed, still watching her face closely. "Why Susan, you sound as though I accused you of a crime! I merely noticed him speaking to you during your dance last night, and guessed by your rosy cheeks that he was not commenting on the weather, or the number of couples my father had managed to bring together, or other such trivial subjects. Come now, did he try to turn your head?"

"Even if he had, after your warnings, do you think I would heed such behaviour?" Susan asked with a weak attempt at dignity.

"I have the firmest confidence in your ability to do only what is right and proper," answered Tom obliquely. "I am sure you would never do anything to bring disgrace upon yourself or your relations."

Poor Susan! Had they not arrived at Mansfield Parsonage just then, it is highly likely that she would have confessed the entire thing to Tom and pleaded for his forgiveness. As it was, their conversation was cut short by Fanny and Edmund's delight at seeing them, and their effusive gratitude at her offer to spend the day with Cassandra, and by the time Susan could think again on Tom's words, she had managed to convince herself that there truly was no harm in what she was planning—and had Tom ever been in love himself, he would understand. After all, Julia herself had been encouraging her that very way, and she would not wish Susan to do something that would shame the family.

Besides, the thought of _not_ meeting Lord Marcus at midnight, of failing him, was simply not to be born. Why, he would think that she didn't care, or worse, that she had not enough spirit to go through with the scheme! That simply was not to be tolerated. No, she would join Lord Marcus, wed him at Gretna Green, and Tom would simply have to accept it.

Still, it was a relief to be settled in the nursery with only Cassandra and the nurse for company. Fanny had left a great many instructions, of which Susan had heard less than half, and then left for the day, saying she really needed to visit several members of the parish whom she had been neglecting terribly since Cassandra's illness.

The nurse, only too happy to let someone else look after her charge, slipped down to the kitchen to gossip with Cook at the first opportunity, and Susan smiled at Cassandra. She really was quite fond of her niece, and right now the little thing looked so pale and ill that only the hardest of hearts could have failed to feel pity.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" she asked softly.

Cassandra, sucking her thumb (a habit of which Fanny had vainly tried to break her), nodded listlessly, and Susan began on a tale of a fairy princess who was banished from her kingdom and couldn't return for many years, until she married the prince and rid the kingdom of the evil sorcerer. She meant for it to put Cassandra to sleep, but the child merely grew more bright-eyes and eager as the tale proceeded, and when Susan finally ended, the child was more awake than she had been when she started.

"Tell another," she demanded briefly.

"Well," Susan whispered conspiratorially. "Do you want to hear a true story?"

Wide-eyed, Cassandra nodded, and Susan continued. "It's a very great secret, and you mustn't tell anyone else about it, not even Mama. Do you promise?"

Cassandra nodded again, and Susan decided to chance it. After all, even if Cassandra _did_ reveal her secret, who would believe the child? And it was simply too delicious to keep to herself; she felt as though she would burst if she could not confide in somebody. Lord Marcus had said to not tell a soul, but surely he could not object to Cassandra knowing.

"Well," she began mysteriously. "Tonight, your Aunt Susan is going on her own great adventure. At midnight, in the garden, she is going to meet Lord Marcus Grimsby, and they are going to run off to be wed! Nobody can know, because nobody can understand how much they are in love, and would not approve, but they don't care. They _must_ follow their hearts, not the dictates of society. Isn't it exciting, Cassie?"

How much of this Cassandra had understood is doubtful, but she smiled and clapped her hands together.

"And then you'll have a new uncle, and your aunt will be a real lady," Susan sighed happily. "And we'll live happily ever after. But remember, say nothing of this to Mama. It's a secret between you and Aunt Susan!"

"Secret," Cassandra agreed.

Susan spent the rest of the day telling Cassandra all the wonderful things that were going to happen once she and Lord Marcus were wed, and she scarcely noticed how quickly the time had flown until Edmund entered the room.

"Father has sent for you to return home for dinner, sister," he said pleasantly. "Nurse will look after Cassandra until Fanny returns."

"Oh!" said Susan, rising to her feet. "I do not mind staying, truly, Edmund."

"I know," smiled Edmund. "You are a good, kind aunt, but as my father has specifically requested you return, I do not feel it right to refuse him."

"Does he say why he wishes me to come back?" Susan asked, a sudden fear striking her heart that perhaps Sir Thomas had somehow found out about her intended elopement.

"I believe Julia is rather put out that you left so abruptly this morning; she feels it an affront to her and her guests, and in order to avoid any more unpleasantness, Father desires you to come back, that all may be smooth. You know how my mother is always troubled by any discomfort."

"Of course," said Susan, relieved. "I would not wish to make my aunt and uncle unhappy. I will return at once." She didn't worry overmuch about Julia's pique, for surely once her cousin learned the reason for her mysterious absence, she would understand and forgive all.

"You are very good," said Edmund, offering her his arm. "And I will escort you back myself."

"You? Surely you have better things to do, brother."

"Than to spend time with my sister? Nonsense. Besides, Tom is still here, so if anything goes wrong, or Cassandra takes a turn for the worse, he will be able to take charge." He looked fondly at his daughter. "I must say, you seem to have done her more good than all the tonics in the empire, Susan. She has not looked this well for days!"

"Stories," Cassandra said unexpectedly. "Secrets."

"Secrets?" Edmund asked, raising one eyebrow. "What secrets?"

Susan's heart skipped a beat, but she managed to laugh carelessly. "Shh-hh!" she lightly shook her finger at Cassandra. "We mustn't tell our secrets, must we?" She turned an innocent face to Edmund. "Cassandra and I have been bearing our hearts today, brother," she said easily. "I'm sure you would not be interested in the contents thereof."

"A clergyman is always interested in people's hearts," Edmund intoned sententiously. "However, I am sure that neither of you two could have anything particularly dire within. You are far too young to know the depths to which a human heart can plummet."

Susan barely managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. "Come," she said, changing the subject hastily, before Edmund decided he did indeed wish to plumb the deeps of the heart. "I would not like to keep my uncle and aunt waiting. Shall we go?"

By chattering gaily about the ball, she managed to keep Edmund from saying or asking anything profound, but Susan was still relieved when they reached the house and he left her. She truly did not like having to hide things from her family, even Edmund, who was rather a dear, if something of a bore with his preachments and pomposity. Even the excitement of her midnight assignation could not completely overwhelm the guilt she felt at deceiving them. She was only thankful that Fanny was not around today, for she was not quite convinced of her ability to hide anything from her beloved sister, especially not something of this magnitude.

She soothed her guilty conscience by reminding herself of what a grand laugh they would all have over this when it was done, of how glad Fanny would be that Susan had married well, and that even Edmund, as a clergyman, would have to admit that a woman's first duty was to her husband over her family. Even though Lord Marcus was not yet her husband, they were affianced, which was almost as good, and if he asked her to keep something a secret, it was her duty to obey.

How easy it is to convince oneself of the rightness of one's actions, even when one's conscience is dictating otherwise!

* * *

To Susan's relief, not only was Tom still not back from Edmund and Fanny's for dinner, but Lord Marcus was off riding with Lady Anna. Merely a day previously, such a revelation would have sent Susan into a jealous rage, but now she knew he was only spending time with the lady to allay suspicion. Besides, she didn't think she would be able to keep her countenance throughout the meal had _he_ been there. As it was, Julia kept glancing suspiciously her way, though thankfully none of the others noticed.

After the meal (which seemed interminably long to Susan's impatient nerves), Susan attached herself to her Aunt Bertram for the rest of the day. Only with her aunt, who took very little notice of anything outside her own comfort at the best of times, and was especially sleepy from the ball today, did Susan feel completely safe from prying questions and curious surmises. Julia, indeed, attempted to engage her in conversation several times throughout the afternoon, but each time was diverted either by Lady Bertram's demands for another cushion, or more thread for her embroidery, or by Ladies Rochester and Montgomery wanting her to join them in the music room, leaving Susan's secret safe.

Tom returned partway through the day, wreaking havoc once more on Susan nerves, but he merely greeted his mother kindly before closeting himself with Sir Thomas in the study, from whence neither man emerged for several hours.

The day stretched on and on, and Susan began to think it would _never_ end, but finally she was able to escape from the company to her bedroom, where she instantly garbed herself in her traveling garments and sat down by the window with her bag in her lap, counting down the weary hours until midnight.

The night waned, and her excitement built, until finally she was able to tiptoe down the stairs to the terrace. Her heart seemed to beat twice as fast as usual, and she was sure one of the servants would hear it, it was so loud. Nobody stirred, however, and she escaped safely through the drawing room window to await her lover in the garden by the terrace. She bit her lip in heady joy. Nothing could stop them now!

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Well, it's not quite the elopement, but we're almost there. Sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger, but it just seemed the best place to stop. Don't worry, you'll see what happens soon enough. Remember, reviews make for a happy author, and a happy author makes for quicker updates!_


	10. Chapter 10

How are Susan's raptures to be described, when she heard footsteps approaching from the shadows? She thrilled down to her gloved fingertips, flushing delightedly at the thought of being so soon united to her love. She was moments away from flinging herself into his still-shadowy arms, when he spoke, and all her thrills took a decidedly different direction, and life itself because too cruel to possibly be born.

"Well, cousin," said Tom calmly, as though meeting a cloaked and hooded Susan, carrying a travel bag, was a perfectly common occurrence at this time of night, "out for a midnight stroll? Quite wise of you to wear a cloak, as the evening air can be quite chill."

Mute with despair, Susan couldn't even bring herself to answer. If Lord Marcus were to come now, while Tom was still here—oh! She shuddered to think of the catastrophe. On the other hand, if Tom was here, did that mean that somehow he had discovered all, and had already dealt with Lord Marcus? She recalled his conversation with Sir Thomas earlier in the day, and shivered again.

"But come, you are cold," Tom said with apparent concern. "Come, let us return to the house. I daresay we can fix you a hot cup of tea, which ought to help you sleep. Come." He took her arm to lead her inside.

Susan, not knowing what to do or even think, pulled her arm away and—to her horror and disgust—burst into tears. Tom merely stood back and let her cry without even offering her his handkerchief, something Susan found most ungentlemanly. As she had neglected to include a handkerchief in her packing, she had to make do with wiping her eyes and nose on the corner of her cloak—for which Fanny would have scolded her greatly, had she been there to see it.

It finally became simply impossible to continue sobbing while Tom stood there so gravely and dispassionately, so with one final wipe of her eyes, Susan hiccoughed once or twice, and said in broken tones, "Do not be so unkind to torment me any longer, Tom. You must know all, else why would you be here? Tell me, where is Lord Marcus?"

"Lord Marcus," Tom replied grimly, "Is no longer any concern of yours. I warned him that if he ever came within ten yards of you ever again, I would give him the thrashing he so richly deserves, regardless of his father's title or wealth, and sent him on his way earlier tonight."

At that, Susan broke into loud sobbing once more. "You don't understand," she wailed. "I love him, and we were to be wed! What is so dreadful about that? You simply have no heart, Tom; you care nothing for my wishes or feelings."

Tom took her by the arm and shook her slightly. "It is you who do not understand, my simple little cousin," he said sharply. "Lord Marcus had not the slightest intention of marrying you. His aim was to seduce you and leave you, with no money, no reputation, and no friends to help you. He never loved you, Susan, can't you see that?"

"No, I can't!" Susan cried, stung. "How dare you say such things about him? You know nothing of what he is truly like! He does love me, and he will find me again, no matter what you threaten or how you try to separate us, and we will be together forever, you'll see!"

Tom sighed. "I should have let Fanny tend this part," he muttered. "Listen to me, Susan. Had Cassandra not inadvertently told me your plans for this evening, Lord Marcus would have met you here—not to take you to Gretna Green, as you thought, but to a secluded cottage far away, where he has performed other seductions in the past. No, listen!" he said, as Susan shook her head and tried to pull away. "There is proof of his dastardly acts in the past. Why do you think I was so reluctant to let you near him? He delights in luring innocent young girls from their homes and guardians, only to desert them when he tires of them. You were nothing more to him than an idle plaything. He admitted it all when I confronted him earlier. He never had any serious or honourable intentions toward you, Susan, and he would have destroyed you utterly."

"I don't believe you," Susan said defiantly. Inside, however, she felt the first crack of doubt in the wall of romantic dreams she had built up, and that doubt only served to infuriate her more. "No," she cried. "You are lying to me! I don't know why you wish to make me miserable, but I cannot believe you, and I refuse to listen to another word. Since you obviously have succeeded in temporarily separating us, I beg of you that you will let me go to my room, where I can drown in my sorrows alone and unhindered."

"Susan," pled Tom. "Do try to be reasonable."

"No! I pray you, leave me be!" With which passionate cry, she tore herself from his grasp and fled back through the house and into her room, where she locked the door and flung herself onto the bed in a storm of weeping, feeling quite sure that her heart had shattered into hundreds of jagged little pieces.

When her tears had all cried themselves out, Susan lay quite still in an exhausted stupor, unable to think or reason properly. How long she might have stayed supine on her bed, insensible to all the world around her, is quite unknown, had not Fanny knocked on the door sometime the next morning.

At first, Susan was inclined to send her away, thinking it far better to indulge her grief alone, rather than listen to her sister's reproaches, but eventually Fanny's gentle pleas because too persistent to ignore, and she unlocked the door and bade her sister enter.

"My poor dear Susan," was Fanny first soft cry as she enveloped Susan in a warm hug. This, undoubtedly, was far better than either being reproached or suffering alone, and Susan allowed herself to be petted and soothed quite as though she was a mere child again.

"Oh, Fanny," she sniffed. "It is all so dreadfully unfair. Tom—I can never forgive him. My heart is broken."

Fanny wisely let her pour out her grief without saying one word as to the foolishness of Susan's actions, or even in defence of their cousin, either of which, surely, would have been justified under the circumstances. Perhaps she felt that if she said anything at all, Susan was likely to go into even deeper of a melancholia and rage. She was truly troubled at her sister's pale, haggard appearance and wild, fever-bright eyes, and reproached herself most bitterly for not having been a better sister to her.

She said as much when Susan finally ran out of words. "My dearest sister, I blame myself entirely for this misadventure. Had I been more attentive, more sensitive and compassionate to your needs, things could never have gotten this far. The fault is mine entirely; I shall never forgive myself for leaving you to feel your own way forward in this most difficult of times."

"I am not a child, Fanny!" Susan cried resentfully, forgetful of the child-like comfort she had just been drawing from her sister's mere presence. "I do not need your guidance, nor your platitudes. I knew perfectly well what I was doing, and had Tom not interfered, all would have been well. And if you," she continued even more wildly, "had not raised Cassandra to be a sneak, she never would have informed on me to Tom, and none of this would have happened!"

Fanny longed to say something in defence of her daughter, who, after all, was but a child of three years and could know nothing as of yet of the importance of keeping confidences, but considering her sister's now nearly hysterical condition, she deemed it best to say nothing at all. So she diverted all her energies into soothing Susan and bringing her into a calmer state of mind, pleading with her to try "just a little tea, Susan dearest, and perhaps some toast. Do try; it will make you feel ever so much better, I am certain."

"Tea and toast?" Susan managed to combine scorn and a sob dramatically. "My heart is broken, and you can think of no greater consolation than tea and toast? Oh! Fanny, you do not love Edmund; no, you could never have loved anyone the way I love Lord Marcus; if you did, you could never offer such insipid comfort. Leave me, leave me, you torment me with your complacent pity and heartless support! I shall die alone here, knowing that no one in the world understands and sympathizes with my plight."

"Now really, cousin, such indulgent self-expression is most unbecoming," said Julia, who, unnoticed by the sisters, had entered the chamber. "You really must learn to control yourself. Now, wash your face and brush your hair, change your frock and come downstairs. Mama is really quite concerned about you—she has already asked for you above twice this morning—so do your duty by my family and compose yourself."

"You?" Susan stared disbelievingly at Julia. "You can speak of composure? You, who told me that the greatest joy a woman could have was to inspire such passion in a man as to make him run off with her? Julia, I had thought that you, of all people, would understand my sorrow!"

Julia blushed uncomfortably under Fanny's grave and grieved stare, but she tossed her head with an uneasy laugh. "I? What nonsense you speak, Susan! Of course I never dreamt you would take me seriously. Only a goose would have taken my words so to heart. Now, you have already caused Yates and me quite a bit of discomfort here—my father blames us for exposing you to Lord Marcus, while _he_ is so outraged at his treatment at Tom's hands that he is quite likely to make our lives in town this winter perfectly intolerable. You really are behaving quite selfishly, so I suggest you start making amends."

"Julia, I hardly think now is the time for such matters," Fanny protested. "Can't you see she has made herself quite ill with grief? If we cannot calm her down, I shudder to think of the consequences."

"Well really, Fanny, that is exactly what I am trying to do," Julia protested.

"Yes, but can't you see you are only making her worse?" Fanny's mild voice was so rarely raised in anger that Julia's contemptuous retort was stopped before she could utter it. She looked at the grief-stricken girl, once more prostrate on the bed, moaning and clutching her hair, and acquiesced.

"Perhaps you are right; it does not seem to be helping. Well, do what you can with her, Fanny. Goodness! I am glad such an unprincipled, undignified person is not _my_ sister."

With which astounding statement she swept out of the room, leaving Fanny the unenviable task of bringing Susan to see reason. In this, she was aided by the fact that Susan's strength, already weakened by two sleepless nights and very little food, was unequal to her grief, and, being unable to maintain her former level of weeping, soon allowed herself to be calmed and tended to. Fanny even managed to persuade her to rise and dress herself, and then, while the formerly despised tea and toast was bringing a hint of colour back to Susan's cheeks, Fanny brushed her hair with long, even strokes, designed to calm her jangled nerves as well as smooth her dishevelled locks.

Eventually, calmed to the point of being able to function, Susan accompanied Fanny outside to the gardens, where the elder sister deemed the time right to speak of the previous night's events. By dint of much heavy logic, Fanny was at last able to make her realize that Lord Marcus had truly never intended to marry her. Though Susan was loath to believe such an atrocity, she could not believe that Fanny would deceive her in this manner; nor, much as she hated to admit it, would Tom. This admission, though, did little to comfort her, and her anger against her cousin still burned fiercely. Her heart was still too attached to Lord Marcus for there to be any anger against _him_; no, it was Tom who bore the brunt of her disappointment and rage. Fanny grieved over this, but knew there was little she could do or say that would change Susan's feelings; only time could effect the necessary revolution.

Deciding it was best to turn their conversation to other matters entirely, Fanny relayed to Susan the news that William, now captain, had written to her saying that their brother Richard had just been made lieutenant. As a paltry year separated Susan and Richard, the two of them were nearly as close as William and Fanny were, and this news was enough to take Susan's mind off her own affairs, at least momentarily, and rejoice in her brother's good fortune.

"Dick must be beside himself," she said, her eyes temporarily losing their deadened expression. "He has waited so long to be made lieutenant … it really seemed as though there was a spite against him. But now he is made, and what a difference it will make! Lieutenant Price … truly, it does have a grand ring."

Fanny well remembered her feelings of pride and joy when William was made lieutenant, and entered into Susan's rejoicing quite heartily, feeling exceedingly thankful that her sister was able to focus on something good, rather than her recent disappointment.

All too soon, however, Edmund came in search of them, and at the sight of him, Susan's face closed up again, and she looked perilously near bursting into tears again.

"Oh Fanny," she whispered piteously, clutching her sister's arm, "Do not let him lecture me; I could not bear it, not today. Please, Fanny, it would truly be beyond human capabilities to listen to one of Edmund's sermons now."

To her relief, however, Edmund merely asked if she was able to attend his mother, who was most distraught over the disarray in the household, and he required Fanny's presence himself, in the study. Only too happy to escape a homily, Susan hurried off to her aunt, and Fanny accepted Edmund's arm gladly.

"How does she do?" he asked gravely, watching her receding figure.

"As well as can be expected upon receiving such a shock," Fanny replied. "I appreciate that Tom wished to spare your father's feelings as much as possible by taking on the task of stopping Susan himself, but I cannot think he did it the right way. Had he sent Lord Marcus away, and called for me to explain to her the man's ill-intentions, it would have been far greater. But to go out in all the excitement of meeting her lover, only to be stopped and informed of his perfidy in such a manner! It is no wonder she fell into hysterics."

"Well," said Edmund. "However poorly Tom managed the affair, it is we who are to blame the most, for neglecting her morals to the point where she could even consider such a deed. My father is quite distraught, knowing that it is only by a mere chance he did not lose yet another of his daughters—for so he considers both you and Susan, my dearest Fanny—to a scheming, careless villain."

In the time it took Fanny to control her emotions at hearing of Sir Thomas's love for her and Susan, and his grief at Susan's waywardness, they reached the study, where Tom was awaiting them.

"Is she well?" was his immediate question.

On being assured that Susan was as well as one can be who thinks her heart is crushed forever, he heaved a sigh. "I have mismanaged this whole thing entirely. I do not blame her for being angry; I will not blame her if she never forgives me. The only thing to discuss now is: what is to be done?"

"Must anything _be_ done?" Edmund asked. "Surely, now that Lord Marcus is removed, and my father speaks of sending Julia and Yates away as well, for there is little doubt that certain careless words of Julia's had a hand in encouraging Susan, there is no need for anything more radical. In time, with our careful guidance and tutelage, Susan will come to a realization of the folly of her ways, and all will be forgotten."

Tom disagreed. It seemed to him that only an immediate change of place and people could help Susan overcome her grief and learn from her errors. Though he did not say it outright, it was in his mind that Lady Bertram's indolence, Sir Thomas's heavy-handed discipline, and Edmund's interminable preachments were not the best way for Susan to change her mindset and behaviour. Fanny, to be sure, was a good and steadying influence on her sister, but between parish duties and her responsibility as a mother, Fanny had less and less time to devote to Susan.

"Well then, perhaps she ought to go home for a time," Edmund suggested. "Surrounded by loving parents and siblings, surely then she will be gently led into the paths of righteousness."

Fanny coloured and spoke. "I do not like to disagree with you, Edmund, or to say anything that would seem disrespectful of my parents' home, but I do not think that is at all the kind of influence we want Susan to fall under. There is far too much freedom there—I fear it would be dangerously easy for her to come into contact with poor companions who would only lead her further down the path of folly, perhaps even to run away."

"No, Portsmouth is not possible," Tom said decisively. "In fact, I have the perfect solution. Edmund, you recall my friend Lord Mercer?"

"The Earl of Campion's son?"

"The very one. His youngest sister, the Lady Elinor, is about the same age as Susan, and in need of a companion. How if we were to send Susan to stay with them at their country estate?"

Edmund hesitated. "I do not know, Tom. You recall Lord Mercer's … unorthodox beliefs. Really, in some ways, he almost seemed a Non-Conformist—practically Evangelical in his views of the Church. I am not sure that his would be the best influence for Susan, particularly in this vulnerable time. You wouldn't want her to be swept up into some spiritualistic kind of fancy."

Perhaps Tom thought that a simple, heartfelt religion would be just the thing for Susan, coming after Edmund's dry sermons and Sir Thomas's stern morality, but all he said was that Lord Mercer would hardly be at Campion Lane at all, and certainly Lord and Lady Campion were as traditional in their beliefs as anyone.

Fanny concurred with Tom's idea, and eventually even Edmund was forced to agree, though he was still darkly foreboding. It was agreed that Tom would write to Lord Mercer that very day, suggesting that Susan come stay with the family as a companion for Lady Elinor until such a time as all parties agreed upon to end the arrangement. Edmund was detailed to inform Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram of the plan, and Fanny took it upon herself to enlighten Susan as to the upcoming change in plans.

That young lady was hardly pleased at being told she was being sent away without even having a say in the matter.

"Am I being punished for my misfortune of falling in love with a man who meant me harm?" she cried indignantly. "Mansfield is my home; why should I be sent away? My aunt needs me, and I do not wish to go. Is it that I am such an embarrassment? Perhaps I should go stay with Aunt Norris and Maria in the country, if that is how you feel! It would be much more convenient to have all the family disgraces in one place."

"It is for your own good, dear," Fanny explained. "We had thought of sending you home"—

Susan paled at this, and without even letting Fanny finish, clasped her hands together in entreaty. "Do not send me back to my parents, please! I will do anything, only do not ask me to return there. I have always only been a nuisance to Mama, and Papa does not care one whit about me. Richard is not there … I have nothing and no one who cares about me or needs me."

"Peace, Susan!" Fanny said, distressed. "You are mistaken, our parents are indeed quite fond of you. Mama simply has too many cares to shew affection to anyone, and you know that Papa is quite taken up with naval matters."

Susan did not seem convinced, and Fanny could not blame her, as their parents _didn't_ care about them, and both knew it. Still, appearances had to be maintained, and it simply didn't do for Susan to go about saying such things about her own family. What would the Earl's family think of her?

When Susan heard where she was going, she couldn't help but be somewhat interested, though she still resented being sent away. Still, a wealthy estate, and an Earl's daughter, could not help but sound an improvement on Mansfield Park, being as that was only the home of a baronet, and not a very wealthy one at that. She soon agreed to the change, though still inclined to grumble at being "transported like an unwanted trunk."

Still, the greater grief at having been deceived and used by the false Lord Marcus took greater precedence over the comparatively minor grief at leaving Mansfield, and the tears Susan shed into her pillow that night were over him, rather than anything else. Though she knew he had foully abused her innocent love and trust, she could not wrench him from her heart. She still loved him, and in the excitable folly of youth, believed she would always love him. Never, she thought, would another man be able to win her heart the way he had. No, she was doomed to die alone and unloved, and most likely sooner rather than later.

With such reflections, it is no wonder that Susan's heart was too heavy for hope or comfort, or to allow her much interest in her forthcoming home, Campion Lane.


End file.
